


smaller than dust on this map

by the_one_that_fell



Series: three words that became hard to say [3]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Coming Out, Established Relationship, M/M, Moving In Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 13:23:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11162736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_one_that_fell/pseuds/the_one_that_fell
Summary: Eric never expected that moving in with Jack would involve this much confusion, coming out, or calling his mama.





	smaller than dust on this map

**Author's Note:**

> Much less food talk in this one, it's almost disappointing lol. 
> 
> TW: coming out publicly (not forced but also not 100% desired), discussions of unhealthy familial relationships, discussions of bigoted relatives with access to guns and other weapons (based loosely on some of my own terrible relatives yay), FOOD (always)

_Smaller than dust on this map_   
_Lies the greatest thing we have:_   
_The dirt in which our roots may grow_   
_And the right to call it home._

_North, Sleeping at Last_

* * *

 

Eric officially moved in with Jack soon after he retired.

They'd more or less been living at each other’s places for a year or two, and when Eric packed everything for the move almost half of the clothes and books and random cords and chargers were Jack’s. But now they were consolidating. Now they were using the b-word and Eric was using heart emojis on his Instagram posts of Jack and letting the rest of the world piece together the nature of their relationship.

The weird, invasive, fannish side of the internet was pretty fast on the uptake. Their friends and family...not so much.

 

* * *

 

Shitty came by for dinner every once in awhile, occasionally bringing Kelly with him, but usually not. They lived out in Concord now, in a quaint little house. Shitty was the only one of Eric’s friends to own a house, and the idea of it still seemed so foreign. But with Ransom and Holster in New York and Lardo in Seattle, Shitty was the last of the old guard to live even close enough to Eric and Jack to grab monthly dinners.

Tonight, Shitty arrived with a bottle of merlot, a tub of buffalo chicken mac n cheese, and copies of Kelly’s latest sonogram.

“It's early, but we’re thinking something fresh, like Harlow or Wynn.” Eric bit his lip and exchanged a brief, only slightly judgmental look with Jack. “Anyway, Kels is super excited, she's spending the weekend at her sister’s place in Westchester, they're already planning the layout of the nursery.”

“That's really great, Shitty,” Eric said, clearing away the plates from the table. Shitty’s man n cheese hadn't _exactly_ gone with teriyaki salmon and broccoli Eric had prepared, but it had been a big hit nonetheless. “Why don't you boys take the wine and get comfy on the couch, I'm just gonna package up these leftovers for you to take home and leave the dishes for Jack to do later.”

Jack huffed with laughter and knocked his hip against Eric’s as he stood. “Thanks, Bittle.”

“I know I said I couldn't eat another bite,” Shitty began as he and Jack wandered into the small living room. “But is there any pie, Bits?”

“Is there any pie?” Eric laughed, quickly dumping the rest of the food into a Tupperware for Shitty. “It's as if you don't know me at all, Mr. Knight.”

As he worked, Eric could hear Jack asking about Lardo and her wife, and Ransom and his. Shitty gave the same vague answers Eric could've gleaned from social media, as out of touch with the old team as the rest of them.

“You think you'll be next, Jack-o?” Shitty asked, pouring glasses for the three of them. “To get hitched?”

Jack shrugged. “Who knows? I'm in no hurry.”

“Don't you feel like you're missing out?” Shitty asked, and Eric held back a laugh.

“What do you mean?” Jack asked, genuine confusion in his tone.

“Like, it's great you and Bits reconnected and are doing the whole roommates thing again, but you're almost 40,” Shitty elaborated, gesturing wildly. “Don't you ever think about settling down? I know you were married to hockey, but what now?”

“Roommates?” Jack asked, and from the hint of laughter and incredulity in his voice Eric knew it was his cue to bring in the pie. “Shits, you can't be serious.”

“What?” Shitty looked up at Eric, eyes narrowing in on the tray he carried. “Ooh, Bits, you've outdone yourself.”

“Shitty,” Jack said, using his Captain voice, deep and serious. “Bittle and I aren't roommates.”

“I mean, _technically_ we are,” Eric said, mostly to be a little shit. As he bent over to set the tray on the coffee table, Jack grabbed him around the waist and hoisted him into his lap. The only thing that kept Eric from making some sort of embarrassing noise was the fact that he'd grown rather desensitized to Jack manhandling him. He leaned back against Jack’s chest and smirked at Shitty.

“Oh, holy shit, you beauts,” Shitty whispered. “How long?”

Eric shrugged and Jack just said, “A while.” Shitty didn't seem too put off by their lack of an answer, beaming widely as he took the two of them in.

“Were you-? At Samwell-?”

“No,” Eric said. “Though I'd be lying if I said I hadn't been a little in love with him then.”

Jack pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “I was too wrapped up in my own head to realize how important Bittle was to me back then. I'll always be grateful to the boys for dragging me to the bar that night and giving me a second chance.”

“That's fucking beautiful,” Shitty said, watching them like they were a pair of small, fluffy kittens. “Jesus, I can't actually handle this. This is so great!”

“Thanks, Shitty,” Eric said, pulling himself up from Jack’s lap to serve the pie.

“So are you gonna make an announcement or anything?” Shitty asked, eagerly accepting the proffered plate. “Like, hi, I'm hockey badass Jack Zimmermann and this is my adorable boyfriend — hashtag you can play?”

Eric and Jack exchanged a look. “Euh, I mean...maybe?” Jack said, scratching at the back of his neck. “I'm working with several organizations right now — LGBTQ athletics programs and teen mental health initiatives — but it's not like Bittle and I have been all that discreet since I retired. And we’re pretty private people, even with Eric’s social media obsession.”

“Holy shit,” Shitty sound, mouthful of pie. “You called him Eric. I have literally never heard anyone call him Eric. You guys are serious.”

Most of Eric’s friends these days called him by his name, but Shitty did have a point. Jack rarely called him anything but Bittle, which was both exasperating and incredibly endearing.

“Bittle’s the most important person in my life,” Jack said softly, reaching out to take Eric’s hand. Eric let himself be tugged back into Jack’s lap and kissed, brief and chaste.

“I'm really happy for you guys,” Shitty said, voice so thick it sounded like he might cry. “Christ, can I call Lards about this? Since you're not being discreet anymore?”

“Sure, honey,” Eric said, melting a little as Jack began to run small circles into his hip. “Call the whole Samwell team if you want to.”

“Lards is gonna freak,” Shitty said, shoveling more pie into his mouth. “Kelly, too. And unnamed Baby Knight’ll kick up a storm when we tell them.”

“I’m glad this is so exciting,” Eric said with a small laugh.

“ _Chyeah_ , it is,” Shitty said, spraying a little bit of crust. “Two awesome dudes like you guys, in love and shit? That’s cause for celebration. Bits, let me refill your glass.”

Eric rolled his eyes and Jack laughed and they both let Shitty get them a little drunk in celebration of a relationship that was not new at all. He passed out on their couch that night, a few crumbs in his mustache, and Eric was struck by how the more things changed in their lives, the more things stayed the same.

At least Shitty was wearing pants. For that, Eric was very grateful.

 

* * *

 

 “I, uh…” Jack scratched the back of his neck. “So you know how I did that event at the animal shelter today?”

Eric already knew where this was going.

“Dog or cat?” He asked, setting his laptop bag down on the coffee table.

“Dog,” Jack said, shoulders deflating. “She was just- they told me she'd been there a while and she's so sweet, Bits, you're going to love her-”

“Jack, we don't have a yard,” Eric said patiently. At the look on Jack’s face, he sighed and added, “ _Yet_.”

The dog curled up in their bedroom was much larger than Eric had been anticipating. She was built like a golden retriever, colored like a border collie, with one leg missing and large, scared eyes that had Eric cooing the moment he saw her. “What’s her name?”

“I was thinking...Betsy?” Jack cast him an apprehensive look, smile pleading. “They called her Elizabeth at the shelter, but she looks like a Betsy to me.”

“Like my oven,” Eric said, winding an arm around Jack’s waist. “You old romantic.”

“I couldn't leave her there,” Jack said. “She's so gentle, sweet.”

“You ready for fatherhood, Mr. Zimmermann?” Eric teased, bumping his hip against Jack’s. Jack’s face turned pink.

“Dog fatherhood, for sure,” he said softly, kneeling down in front of Betsy. She seemed tentative, but let Jack scratch behind her ears. “I'm sorry I sprang this on you.”

“Oh, honey.” Eric knelt next to him and let Betsy scooch forward to sniff his hand. “It's okay. I mean, please talk to me about these things in the future, but it's not like I could've said no to this sweetheart either.”

“Her eyes reminded me of you,” Jack said softly. “Big and brown and scared and kind.”

“Sweetpea…” Eric leaned his head against Jack’s shoulder. “Welcome to the family, Betsy.”

Betsy very cautiously licked his hand and didn't flinch away when he petted her. Something warm bubbled in Eric’s chest as he watched Jack talk about her, _to_ her, make plans for a dog bed and types of food and which dog parks were closest. Jack had such a big heart, and he let in so few people. The way he looked at Betsy, hope unweighted by fear or apprehension…

Eric reached out and pushed a stray hair from Jack’s brow, tucking it back into place. His thumb lingered on a small scar just above Jack’s eyebrow, where he'd fallen off his bike as a kid. He'd admitted that to Eric once after a few drinks, the two of them stretched out on the roof of the Haus days before Jack graduated. Everyone always assumed it was a hockey injury; everyone always assumed everything in his life had something to do with hockey. And they weren't always wrong.

“You're vacuuming from now on,” Eric said. “She looks like a shedder.”

“Sure, Bits,” Jack said softly, smiling at the wagging of Betsy’s tail. “I'll mop, too, if she turns out to be a drooler.”

“My beautiful househusband,” Eric teased, kissing Jack’s cheek. “So dutiful.”

Jack turned to kiss him properly, still smiling. “Your everything,” he whispered. “Whatever you want, I'll be it.”

“Just you, Jack,” he said. “I just want _you_.”

Before he realized what was happening, Eric was lying back on the bedroom floor, Jack hovering above him, sucking at the sensitive spot at the junction of Eric’s neck and shoulder. It was the one move Jack could always count on to completely reduce Eric into pliant, giddy mush, and a power Eric gladly let him abuse.

“I'm too old for the floor, Mr. Zimmermann,” Eric breathed. “You're gonna hurt your knees.”

“My knees are fine,” Jack argued, but grunted as he got to his feet, which earned him a look. “We just washed the sheets, though.”

“We’ll put down that ugly blanket my cousin sent,” Eric said, biting lightly at Jack’s chin. “Mm, and light those candles that sponsor sent me for review...make an evening of it…”

“Would it be weird to have sex in front of Betsy?” Jack asked, hands inching under Eric’s shirt. “I feel bad leaving her alone…”

“She's a dog, Jack,” Eric said, busying himself with the knotted tie of Jack’s sweatpants. “I...guess it wouldn't traumatized her? Unless she thinks we’re fighting.”

“We do get loud,” Jack mused. “Do you think she'd want a rawhide to chew or something?”

“I don't know, sweetheart.” Eric gave up on Jack’s pants and sighed. “You're going to spend the entire time worrying about the dog, aren't you?”

“Well…”

“We’ll be quiet,” Eric said, hands on his hips. “And quick. I'll grab the blanket, you grab a bone for Miss Betsy. After we can run to PetCo and get all her things.”

“Once she's settled in,” Jack said. “I'm going to show you the best night of your life. Candles, wine, that fancy oil Connor raves about…”

“Dinner at Juliet’s beforehand,” Eric bartered. “I want creme brûlée made by someone else.”

“All the crème brûlée you can eat,” Jack promised, kissing him soundly. “Playing footsie under the table. Holding hands on the table while we wait for our appetizers. The lights turned low and soft music playing in the background…”

“Very romantic,” Eric agreed. “Once Betsy’s settled in.”

“Yeah,” Jack breathed. “Once Betsy’s settled.”

Eric sighed and rested his head against Jack’s chest. “Can I still blow you now?”

“Mhmm,” Jack said quickly. “I think Betsy can deal with that.

 

* * *

  

“My mother didn't believe that we were dating,” Eric said into the grain of the table. “It took twenty minutes to convince her. And then it took another ten to convince her that you weren't the bad influence at Samwell who turned me gay. She probably is blaming you anyway, for being so pretty it corrupted my good, Christian soul.”

“That pretty, huh?” Jack asked, rubbing Eric’s shoulders firmly, digging into the tension there.

“She can believe _I'm_ gay, because I've never dated girls and I dress well and act feminine and what _-ever_ ,” Eric spat. “But not Mr. Macho Jock McHot Ass.”

“Is that what she calls me?” Jack teased, thumbs kneading circles into Eric’s back.

“I should've known better than to hope she'd accept bisexuality as a _thing_.” He groaned and stretched his arms forward, relaxing into Jack’s touch. “Should've known better than to think she'd accept that a man like you could be attracted to a man like me.”

“Bits…” Jack kissed the back of his neck. “How could I not be?”

“She's a stubborn old cow,” Eric said, regretting his words immediately. “Ooh, that was mean. Still! It's hard enough to get her on the phone as it is and I was so excited and I went and _ruined_ it by trying to have boy talk with her.”

Slowly, so as not to smack Jack in the face, Eric sat up, sighing long and low. Jack kissed his head, wrapping both around around his shoulders.

“I just wanted her to know how happy I am,” Eric whispered. “I thought, maybe if she could see...maybe it'd make her happy, too.”

“I'm sorry, Bits,” Jack said. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No,” Eric said sorrowfully. “Except maybe kiss me a bunch and go to the pet store with me to pick out cute outfits for Betsy’s Instagram.

“Sure, Bits,” Jack said softly. “It would be my pleasure.”

 

* * *

 

 

Eric should've known better than to check his email while out doing something fun. Jack had casually mentioned a skating rink opening up near them for a Christmas bazaar, which meant Eric had cleared his afternoon and dragged Jack out with him, skates in hand. It was a small rink, filled with people all hyped up and happy on the holiday season. No one seemed to recognize either of them, which was always nice. Eric knew he'd be recognized by a few of the vendors — he'd interviewed several of them over the years — but on the ice, they were just another couple going about their business.

So when Eric had stepped off the rink to get a cup of water and casually checked his email on his phone, he was a little shocked to see an email from Adam Birkholtz, CPA. Confused, curious, and a little cautious, Eric leaned against the wall of the rink and opened the message.

_Bits,_

_Rans and I are coming from a place of love and concern when we say this, and I know it'll be hard to hear, but we’ve noticed a trend in your recent pics on like Instagram and whatever and we think you need to talk to someone about your crush on Jack. It's not healthy to pine like this. Jack’s not worth it. You deserve to find someone who'll love you back._

“Jesus Christ on a cupcake,” Eric hissed, not bothering to finish reading. He must've looked distressed, because Jack was already skating his way, brow furrowed.

“You okay?” He asked as soon as he was close enough to hear.

“Apparently,” Eric said with a deep sigh. “Shitty didn't gossip with the old crew as much as we'd expected. I just got a very concerned email from Ransom and Holster.”

“What?” Jack skated over and tried to pluck the phone out of Eric’s hands over the wall. Eric smacked him away; Jack _knew_ it was a pet peeve of his to have things taken from him without asking first. He gave Eric an apologetic grimace and Eric handed the phone over with a bit more flourish than necessary. “Oh, my God.”

“Yeah,” Eric said, leaning against the wall of the rink. “Apparently my hopeless, one-sided crush on you has become worrisome. I think this is an intervention.”

Jack, the asshole, looked like he was holding back laughter. “‘It's not healthy to pine like this. Jack’s not worth it.’ Ouch. I'm hurt.”

“Ugh, those morons,” Eric grumbled. “Why are they being so nosy in the first place? We haven't been real friends in years. I haven't properly talked to either of them since Ransom’s wedding. Even if I was hung up on you, it wouldn't be any of their concern.”

Jack leaned over the wall to nuzzle his face against the side of Eric’s head. He pressed a quick kiss there, then said, “You wanna send them a ChatSnap?”

“Okay, one, you know what it's called, you're dating _me_ ,” Eric said, rolling his eyes as Jack chuckled, too amused by his own joke. “And two, what do you mean? A snapchat of me yelling at them for being Nosy Nellies?”

“No,” Jack said, pecking one cheek, then the other. “Not quite.”

“ _Oh_.” Eric grinned at Jack, flipping through his open apps to find Snapchat. “I forget how devious you can be, Mr. Zimmermann.”

“That's what makes me so devious,” Jack said plainly. “No one ever suspects me.”

“Bring it in, darlin’,” Eric said, holding the phone up until the screen showed both of their faces. It wasn't the cutest picture — he wasn't going to stand in public and compose the perfect shot of him making out with his boyfriend — but a few heart emoji stamps later he sent it off to Ransom and Holster, feeling nervous yet giddy.

“Now we’ll see who needs an intervention,” he said, shoving his phone back into his pocket. “You wanna take another spin?”

“Sure, Bits,” Jack said, his smile goofy and nose red from the cold. “If you can tear yourself away from your phone…”

“Excuse you,” Eric said as he wobbled back onto the ice. “I am awaiting some _important_ emails from some _important_ sponsors. As the breadwinner in this relationship-”

“Okay, but as the ex-NHL sugar daddy in this relationship,” Jack countered with a teasing grin. “I’d like to hold your hand and skate in circles now.”

“Gross old man,” Eric chirped. “You can hold my hand if you can catch me.”

Eric made it two laps before Jack caught up to him, which would've been more impressive if Jack hadn't gotten stuck behind a train of kids learning to skate. Eric could hear his phone beeping incessantly, going off every few seconds, and he could only assume Ransom and Holster had saved his snapchat and sent it to the ancient SMH group chat. Feeling around in his pocket, Eric switched off his ringer by touch. The chirps and congratulations and stunned exclamations could wait; right now he was back in his old figure skates, hand-in-hand with his favorite person in the world, in public, unafraid.

 

* * *

 

 

In the typical manner of a southerner, Eric had given Betsy several nicknames within a month of owning her, almost all of which she responded to. It drove Jack crazy — “Now she’ll just come anytime you shout anything!” — but Betsy was such a mild-mannered dog, it didn’t really matter.

Jack began looking into houses around that time. The listings he sent to Eric were all rentals, but Eric was almost certain Jack was itching to own his own place, make that investment and really plant his roots somewhere. Though the cliched domesticity of it worried Eric, he couldn’t deny that stability of staying in one place for more than a few years was tempting.

When they moved into a little rental place, Eric felt the closest to becoming a real adult — the kind of adult his parents were — he ever had in his life. He had a living room and a kitchen that weren’t attached. He had a tiny, fenced backyard. He had a _spare bedroom_ , for Pete’s sake.  

Though he and Jack were splitting the rent, Jack had insisted on picking up the utilities himself. “When we’re married, we’d be consolidating our finances anyway,” he’d argued. “My money is your money, Bittle.”

And it didn’t make Eric panic, anymore, to hear Jack say the m-word. Neither of them had ever proposed, and neither of them would for a while, if at all. It was just a certainty, if not a fact, that they would be together for the rest of their lives; marriage was an institutional benefit they would eventually take advantage of.

Betsy took to the yard so enthusiastically, it was often hard to convince her to come in, even in the snow. And when Betsy was out there, Jack tended not to be far behind. Most days Eric would come home to find them playing, or planning Jack’s herb garden, or asleep together in the hammock Jack had bought almost as soon as he’d found a place to hang one. Eric liked to joke that Betsy must be a Zimmermann, too Canadian to feel the cold.

They had a housewarming party one chilly Sunday. Eric nearly burned the house down, trying to light the fireplace without opening the flue, and Jack pulled the mini croissants out of the oven too early and had to scrap them, but despite the setbacks it was a lovely time. The Zimmermanns came, claiming to already have been passing through the area, and it made Eric’s heart ache wonderfully to know they were lying. Jen and Anisha discussed their wedding plans (courthouse, matching outfits, getting wildly drunk with friends), and Javi did his best to force-feed Connor all the treats filled with saturated fat. Ford spent a good thirty minutes on the ground making over Betsy, and was soon joined by Bob.

“Papa,” Jack admonished. “Your knee.”

Bob waved his cane at Jack in exasperation. “I'm not _that_ old, Jack.”

“I'm not helping you up,” Jack mumbled into his drink, but he smiled as Betsy rolled over and offered her belly for Bob to scratch.

Eric was garnishing a pitcher of Bloody Marys when Alicia walked into the kitchen. Even in old age, Alicia was one of those people who commanded a room, elegant and powerful. Her beauty had faded with the years, but she still possessed an authority to silence an army of men with a single, pointed look. Eric felt uneasy around her, the way he supposed White House interns felt uneasy around the President. Alicia Zimmermann was accomplished, poised, and Eric was just a schlubby YouTube personality who was in love with her son.

“Eric,” she said, resting a hand between his shoulder blades as she squeezed through the space between him and the kitchen island. “The casserole you made was divine, though I’m almost certain I felt my arteries clogging.”

“Old family recipe,” Eric said, pivoting to set the pitcher on the tray he’d prepared on the island. “It requires far more butter than Jack thinks is sane, but that’s just how we do things back home. It’s also probably why heart disease runs in my family,” he added with a small grimace.

Alicia laughed, high and clear, and even the sound of it seemed regal. It amazed Eric how in control of every aspect of body — her appearance, her mannerisms, hell, even her posture — she was. He supposed it came from years of training, but there was something very uncanny about it all.

“How are your parents?” Alicia asked, stealing a grape from one of the spare bowls of fruit salad. “Jack says they’re still living in Georgia.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Eric said, rearranging cups on the tray. “Coach has taken on an assistant coach to help him out and Mama’s cut back her hours at the clinic, but they’re still as lively and active as ever.”

“Your parents are a bit younger than me and Bobby,” Alicia stated, though Eric thought there might be a question in there.

“Mhmm,” he said. “Had me pretty young. Not much else to do ‘round there.”

Alicia smiled politely and nodded, then asked, “You and Jack haven’t been to visit?”

To his mortification, Eric snorted before he could stop himself. “Lord, no. I’m not dragging Jack into that hellish pit of judgement and hate. Plus, I’m almost certain he’d melt like a snowman in the Georgia sun.”

Eric didn’t have to look at Alicia to know she was taken aback by this answer. He wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, though; if he’d wanted Jack anywhere near his family, they’d have gone down there already.

A soft hand squeezed his shoulder, and when he looked up at Alicia she was smiling at him, part pityingly, part...anxiously?

“I’m sorry about your family,” she said softly, thumb kneading into his neck in small circles. “But I came in here because I wanted to thank you for joining ours. For loving Jack as much as we do.”

“Oh, well.” Eric ducked his head and busied himself with the Bloody Mary garnishings again. “I mean, you don’t choose to fall in love-”

“But you do choose _how_ you love someone,” Alicia insisted, hand slipping down to rest on his back. “And you love my son so ardently, so entirely...and I love _you_ for that.”

Before he knew what he was doing, Eric had Alicia wrapped in a tight hug. She smelled like Channel and expensive lotions and hair products, but she was thin and brittle and warm in the same way Mama had been, last time Eric had seen her in person. If he held on a beat too long, Alicia didn't seem to mind.

Eventually, Eric pulled away, blinking back tears. “I should serve these Bloody Marys.”

“Let me help you,” Alicia said. “I was a waitress in college, I know my way around pouring and serving drinks.”

“Well, thank you, ma'am,” Eric said, smiling widely. He grabbed the tray and let Alicia lead him back into the living room. Together they served the drinks and chirped Bob for letting the dog lick his entire face and laughed at Jen’s stories of her latest escapades.

Across the room, Jack watched them with a small smile on his face. Eric met his eye, and for the first time since they'd moved in, Eric felt this place was really, truly his home.

 

* * *

 

_JACK ZIMMERMANN GAY?_   The headline read.

It honestly took much longer than Eric and Jack had expected for the sports world to catch on. The fan-driven parts of Internet — Twitter, Tumblr, all the social media sites where rabid young sports fans gathered to gossip and speculate — had been making assumptions about Jack and Eric (and Jack and several other NHL players) since long before Jack had retired.

It didn't hurt that Jack attended Pride with Eric this year. He didn't dress up or even paint his face in bi pride colors like Eric had suggested, but he'd been there to celebrate and remember. (Eric, Jen, and Connor, had gone whole hog in the costume department — and by costume, Eric meant glitter and body paint.) Still, given the amount of rainbow paint that ended up on Jack's clothes (and face) courtesy of Eric, assumptions could be made from the photos that circulated around social media.

Jack had never liked the idea of coming out publicly. Mostly it was a stubborn belief that he shouldn't _have_ to and that he didn't owe the public that kind of personal information, but a small part of Jack feared the backlash and how it might affect his anxiety.

Instead, he and Eric just stopped hiding once he retired. They held hands in public, kissed on the T, posted pictures of each other with bed head or wearing each other’s clothes — anything a straight couple would be able to do without comment. Somehow, Eric thought, this made even more of a statement than any press conference or official statement would.

The day Deadspin posted _the_ article, Jack was amazingly calm. Eric was a nervous wreck, of course, and baked three loaves of bread just to keep his mind busy. (They were quickly donated to the family next door by Jack, who knew there'd only be three more loaves in the works as soon as he got back.)

“How are you not worried?” Eric asked when Jack all but carried him out of the kitchen. “I mean, I'm glad you're not, but _how_? Did you sell your soul to the Devil? Mama always warned against that, but I figured if I was gay then really there was no harm in it-”

“Bits,” Jack said, sitting him down on the couch. “Eric. It's been over a decade since America legalized gay marriage. Things aren't perfect, but they're okay. And maybe professional men’s sports aren't ready for openly gay players, but I think they can handle an ex-player. In fact, it's probably the baby step the NHL needs. If I can handle the brunt of this as a recently retired man who's happy with life and disgustingly in love, then maybe I can make things easier for the Michael Sams of the world.

“It won't be easy,” he continued, taking Eric’s hands. “There will be negative reactions. You'll probably get them, too, though you've been out to your audience from the beginning. But you've seen all those fans who've been obsessing over us for years — I believe they'll have our backs. My parents will have our backs. All of your YouTube friends will, too. Ina Garten loves you, and she's got friends in high places. My mother is friends with Tim Gunn and Andy Cohen. We will have supporters who are far louder than the haters. I believe that.”

“Okay,” Eric said with a deep sigh. “I just don't want this to hurt you.”

“It will,” Jack said simply. “But it's okay.”

The article that went viral never actually came to a solid conclusion, but the evidence it presented was hard to argue with. It pulled several photos from Eric’s Instagram and Twitter, nothing too damning but clearly more than friendly. Eric now saw why Ransom and Holster had been so worried — if it was assumed Jack was straight, then Eric certainly looked desperately lovestruck.

“How do you want to respond?” Eric asked later that day, cooking up a large batch of roasted vegetables since he'd been banned from pastries. “Wait for a reporter to contact you? Or post something?”

“I'll post something,” Jack said, and it wasn't until the camera clicked that Eric realized he was being photographed.

“Jack!” He huffed out. “Stop, I look like such a mess right now-”

“Yeah,” Jack said with a goofy smile. “You look cute.”

“Shush,” Eric said, sprinkling olive oil and garlic on top of the vegetables before shoving them into the oven. “What are you doing?”

Part of him already knew; Jack was messing with the controls on his camera that would AirDrop the photo to his phone. Jack wasn't a huge fan of social media, but his Instagram had become relatively popular in the past few years. Setting the camera down, Jack grabbed his phone and his reading glasses and began tapping away at the screen.

“There,” he said a moment later. “The only response needed, I think.”

Curious and a little annoyed, Eric pulled out his phone and saw he'd been tagged in a photo. He hated the picture of himself, though he had to admit Jack had framed it nicely, catching the way way the light filtered through the window so beautifully. He'd caught Eric in a moment of concentration, tongue between his teeth, chopping beets and onions the way he'd been taught at age ten by his MooMaw. Though the kitchen was Eric’s domain, there were enough hints of Jack lingering in the image — the Bruins mug of coffee on the counter, the old Falconers shirt Eric wore, the tub of protein powder next to the blender. That alone made Eric smile.

The caption, though, that was what took Eric’s breath away.

_There's a lot of speculation going on today, so I figured I'd clear things up. For starters, I'm bi, but I suppose none of you care about that. I don't really care about it either. What I do care about it this man right here. Eric Bittle is the most important person in my life. He is kind and hard-working and the most fascinating man I've ever known. When I was younger, I thought the happiest moment of my life would be winning the Stanley Cup, but I was wrong. Every morning I get to wake up next to him is the happiest moment of my life, and I look forward to a lifetime of those moments. I love this man more than anything in the world. If you've got a problem with that, you should probably stop and think about why love upsets you so much. -Jack_

“You didn't have to _sign_ it, old man,” Eric said, but most of his words were drowned out by his crying. “God, I love you, too, honey.”

Jack smiled and let Eric cry into his shirt, and for a moment they were both a decade younger, in the kitchen of the Haus during a surprise party, a brand new oven beside them.

The internet took that post and ran with it. The responses were good and bad and everywhere in between, and Eric tried not to read them. Bob posted some sweet words and links to several LGBTQ+ resources for athletes. Alicia posted some less-than-sweet words challenging homophobes to even try and mess with her babies. Eric’s sponsors and YouTube friends and even Ina Garten made statements of support and love; many, many of Jack’s old teammates did the same. (Tater posted a picture of all six of his dogs decorated in rainbow streamers, declaring they were proud of their uncles, but especially the one who sent them homemade treats.)

But what touched Eric the most was the response from the current Samwell Men’s Hockey Team that came that evening. The whole team — and _gosh_ they all looked so _young —_ took a picture at the Haus holding a WE SUPPORT OUR FORMER SMH CAPTAINS #LOVEISLOVE sign. In the corner, two of the boys were holding hands, and Eric almost started crying again.

“Looks like Uncle Mario made a statement,” Jack said, glancing at his phone as Eric tried not to chug his wine. “P.K. too, that's nice of him. So did the official accounts for the Bruins, the Habs, the Falconers, Schooners, Preds, Pens... _wow._ That's nice.”

“Jen says there haven't been _too_ many death threats on my channel,” Eric said with a sigh. He'd given Jen his login after she'd demanded he unplug for the day. Given her thick skin and true enjoyment of reporting trolls and bigots, she'd made it her job to go through and clear out the nasty comments so Eric wouldn't have to. He was almost certain she and Anisha had turned it into a drinking game. “Though an odd number of people seem to think I turned you gay. It's the 20s, you'd think that myth would die already.”

“Maybe if I'd known you when I was fifteen,” Jack mused sleepily. “Of course, you would've been a _child_ , so I hope not.”

Eric laughed and tossed his phone to the side, snuggling against Jack’s side. “Mm, I would've had the biggest crush on you then, even if I hadn't known that's what it was.”

“I doubt it,” Jack said wryly. “I was still kind of chubby and really, really awkward. Like I am now, really.”

“Wanna know a secret?” Eric whispered, squeezing Jack’s belly a little. When Jack leaned it to hear, Eric tweaked his nose and said, “I've got a _huge_ crush on you now, Mr. Zimmermann.”

“Really?” Jack laughed. “What a coincidence. I have a huge, embarrassing crush on you, too.”

“Wow, what are the odds?” Eric kissed Jack’s chest and collar, anywhere he could reach from his position. “We should do something about that.”

Jack leaned down to kiss Eric properly, soft and sweet and unhurried. “Like make dinner? You know you shouldn't be drinking on an empty stomach.”

“When is my stomach ever _really_ empty?” Eric countered. “Let’s order Chinese and make out on the couch like teenagers.”

“How about we order from that salad place,” Jack said, earning himself a groan. “Hey, you're the one who makes me eat fruit so I don't die of heart disease at age fifty or whatever. You and I both know that ‘ordering Chinese’ is code for ‘let's see who can eat more egg rolls.’”

“How about a compromise?” Eric pulled out his phone. “Chicken stir fry from Fry Guy? Brown rice, the spiciest sauce they got — pretty tempting, _eh_?”

“Alright,” Jack relented. “I want extra broccoli. And tofu, their chicken’s always so dry.”

“Sure, darlin’,” Eric said, tapping out their order into the app. “Can you believe today? We woke up to that stupid article and now we’re just drinking wine and ordering dinner like nothing happened.”

“I think you promised me some making out, too,” Jack said, kissing the top of Eric’s head. “I know I'll have to talk to a reporter or _someone_ before this is over, but this...is nice. Having it finally out there for people to gawk at but still getting to just...live at the end of the day.”

Eric sent the order and grinned at Jack. “I'm glad, sweetheart. I'm just happy I get to drag you onto another episode of the vlog soon.”

“Why?” Jack asked, brow furrowed.

“To introduce you as my boyfriend, doofus,” Eric huffed. “Everyone loved you last time you were on, and now we have a reason to do it again.”

“Fine,” Jack said, trying and failing to look put upon. “But I get to choose the dish. Poutine.”

“Oh, honey.” Eric patted his head. “If you think I haven't been planning a poutine episode since before we were dating, you would be sorely mistaken.”

“Of course you have,” Jack said fondly. “Fine. But I want Betsy as my co-chef.”

“Of course.” Eric smiled, because now he could show off Betsy as _their_ dog. “I'll get her a little apron and everything.”

“I’m honestly surprised you don’t already have one,” Jack chirped. “You’ve failed as a dog father.”

“Rude. Maybe Betsy will just replace you, then,” Eric teased back. “The co-host I deserve.”

They chirped each other until the food arrived, then they ate quickly and ravenously, before tumbling back onto the couch, laughing and kissing. Their phones lit up every few seconds with notifications and texts and calls, but they didn’t care at all. They’d weather whatever the assholes threw at them, because they had each other and their friends and their supporters. Their relationship was out and life went on.

 

* * *

 

The package came a week later.

“Bits,” Jack had said that afternoon, lugging in the package from the doorstep. “Got something from Georgia. Another gift from your cousin?”

Brooke, Eric’s favorite cousin, had been trying her hardest to reconnect with him since she’d moved from her parents’ house to Athens. Brooke worked as a sales rep for a boutique home goods supplier in the city, and oftentimes sent him the sample goods she has on hand under the guise of asking him to review them on his blog. Really, he knew, she was trying to make up for years of most of the family ignoring or hating him. Eric always sent her cookies along with his thank you notes.

“Probably,” Eric said, not looking up from his checkbook. Lord knew why he still payed bills through snail mail in the digital age, but he found the rhythm of it almost soothing. “Though she just sent those throw pillows I gave to Anisha. Is there a holiday approaching I wasn't aware of?”

“Huh,” Jack said, setting the box down on the table. “It's from Madison.”

“What?” Eric readjusted his glasses and made grabby hands for the package. “What are the odds it's a bomb?”

“A bomb?” Jack looked startled. “Who would send you a bomb?”

“Well,” Eric started ticking off his fingers. “My Uncle Andrew is ex-military and hates Democrats. My Aunt Patty is a homophobe and a nutty conspiracy theorist. My cousin, Tripp, is almost definitely part of an anti-government militia, and seems to think the Gays are the reason we have a woman president- don't give me that look, I'm aware how nonsensical these people are. I'm just saying, my family ain't just a bunch of normal, unmotivated bigots. They all own guns and knives and love blowing shit up. You've seen how I get with fireworks, it's genetic.”

“Should you be opening that?” Jack asked as Eric pulled out his pocket knife. “Like...in the house?”

Eric shrugged. “The address is my parents’. None of my relatives are smart enough to frame each other. It's probably not a bomb. Or anthrax. Or, like, a dead animal.”

“I can't imagine why you ever left home,” Jack said mildly, still staring at the box with apprehension.

“I keep trying to convince Brooke to move up here,” Eric said as he sliced open the packing tape. “Athens is a nice place, but the further from the Bittle clan she can get, the better off she'll be. I've been thinking of getting her contact with Lardo, I think she'd like Seattle- oh.”

In the box, wrapped in padding, was an old, silver serving platter Eric knew from his childhood. It had belonged to MooMaw’s mother, the only part of their silver collection to survive the Depression. It had been presented to MooMaw on her wedding day, and given to Suzanne and Coach when they'd moved into their first house together. Eric felt his throat tighten.

“There's a letter,” Jack murmured, pointing at the envelope. Eric ripped it open impatiently and began to read.

_Dicky,_

_Heard from Brooke you had moved into your first house. I know you and Jack probably have everything you need, but it seemed fitting to finally pass this on. If the north hasn't taken all of your Phelps sensibilities, then I'm sure you have plenty of parties to host, and what kind of good, Georgia boy would you be if you didn't use your best silver?_

_Your daddy and I hope to see you and Jack at Christmas this year. MooMaw has been threatening to fly up there herself, even though dialysis makes that difficult. We miss you, honey._

_Give our love to Jack._

_Mama_

Eric couldn't speak. Last time they'd spoken, Mama hadn't even been able to accept he was in love with Jack Zimmermann, and now she was inviting him to Christmas. Did he have a stroke? Was he hallucinating?

Wordlessly, Eric passed the letter to Jack. As Jack read, Eric pulled out the platter, running his fingers over the etchings around the edge, the curve of the handles. Was this an apology? An olive branch? A step forward?

“Wow,” Jack breathed. “Maybe something else good came out of coming out.”

And that had to be it. Not Jack coming out, per se, but the things he'd said about Eric after, in his posts and interviews and responses, the way he'd emphasized just how much he loved Eric.  Suddenly the words Alicia Zimmermann had said to him at their housewarming made sense. Suzanne Bittle couldn't accept her son was gay, but she could love anyone who loved her baby boy so adamantly.

“I need to write a thank you note,” Eric finally said.

“It can wait until tomorrow,” Jack said. “But maybe you could call her. I bet she'd answer today.”

“Do I want to, though?” Eric asked, rubbing at the back of his neck. “She's run hot and cold since I came out to her. Is this just going to go away once she remembers I'm a hellbound sinner?”

“Do whatever you want to do,” Jack said softly. “But I think if you really wanted to cut ties with your mother, you would've already packaged this up again and headed out to the post office to send it back.”

“What I want and what's best for me aren't always the same thing,” Eric countered. “Am I stupid to try to make her love me again?”

“No. You're just human.”

“Ugh.” Eric set the platter down. “I'm gonna call her. And if it goes poorly, you're taking me to a fancy hotel bar and buying me expensive drinks to drown my sorrows.”

“Okay, Bittle,” Jack said with a small smile.

“And we’re buying treats from that patisserie I like.”

“Of course, dear.”

“And binging whatever awful reality show is on when we get home.”

“We have several episodes of Real Housewives on the DVR already.”

“Perfect.” Eric took a deep breath and pulled out his phone, dialing a number he knew from heart. It rang and he cast a nervous, hopeful glance at Jack.

_“Hello?”_

“Hey, Mama,” he said softly. “I got your package.”

Jack smiled at him and Eric felt a warm wave of calm wash over him. Even if this went terribly, he always had Jack in his corner to hold him up. And he always would. Of that, he was certain.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I have at least one more fic in this universe planned out, but I have other projects to work on and like zero energy so that one probably won't happen for a while. 
> 
> I'm on tumblr at [alphacrone (formerly eve-baird.)](http://alphacrone.tumblr.com/)
> 
> If you like my writing, please check out my [new, original project. ](http://thediscourtknife.tumblr.com/)


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